From a very young age, I had to grow up pretty fast. My parents divorced when I was six and my older brothers wanted to distract themselves from any potential hurt that was caused from this separation. Living with a single mother and having brothers who were constantly playing sports, I was left to fend for myself. To teach myself how to become my own person and not rely on anyone for anything. Because when you lean on someone else, they’re bound to leave you eventually, right?
This led me to becoming a very independent person.
Even in my relationships, romantic or platonic, I’ve always made it known that I will always be there for that person, but don’t cling on to me. I personally can’t handle clingy people for a long period of time. Consciously, I know that it’s a subconscious fear that everyone will eventually leave, so why bother attaching yourself.
It goes without saying that I like to be alone. I love enjoying time by myself to decompress, collect my thoughts and not have to worry if the person with me is having a good time.
I even moved to the city without technically needing to. It was much more affordable to live at home and enjoy the company of my dogs. But I craved the independence so much that I made the decision to make the move to my own apartment during a pandemic to achieve that.
And don’t get me wrong, I love my place. The feeling of accomplishment I get when I think back to how far I’ve come, to afford a place on my own in the city…there’s no greater feeling. I get to enjoy everything anyone ever talks about when having their own place. I can do and eat whatever I want, whenever I want, make my own decor decisions, and yes, even walk around naked.
It’s everything I wanted. And yet, I feel so alone.
And it’s a loneliness that’s unexplainable. Unless, you too, are sitting alone in your apartment every weekend. Because it’s not so much a sadness, although that creeps up, but rather an emptiness. As if there’s a piece of the puzzle missing.
The fact that there’s a pandemic forcing everyone to stay inside is a critical aspect to consider, but this emptiness is still so hard to dissect.
I’m very content in going about my day as I would even if I lived back home. Nothing dramatic has changed in that sense to consider it a thought. But it’s those small moments — when you get off work, want to grab a coffee, or need to do groceries — that you realize how alone you are.
You try to fill the void with books, television, even stick yourself on a dating app or two, but nothing is providing that satisfaction. It’s not as if I wasn’t ready to leave. Boy, was I ready to leave. Which makes it all the more harder to feel this feeling.
All I can do is sit with this feeling and ride it out. Other days I choose to fight it. We’ll see who wins the battle.